


there's nothing in this world i wouldn't do

by bellamythology (onemanbellarmy)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends, Childhood Friends, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 03:13:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6887293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onemanbellarmy/pseuds/bellamythology
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>3 times it was Bellarke (and Nate) against Roan + 1 time they were on the same side.</p><p>(featuring Clarke and Roan as cousins, and Bellamy & Clarke & Miller as childhood best friends.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's nothing in this world i wouldn't do

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired in part by the tags on [this post](http://bellamythology.tumblr.com/post/144523859665/midnightoverlord-bell-clarke-cinematic) and by Chash's fic [Spectator Sport](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6802366)
> 
> Title from Avicii.

i.

“Isn’t it a little mean for us to gang up on him on his birthday?” Bellamy worried, even as he passed the binoculars to Clarke so he could check on the toy pistol he’d insisted on tucking into his jeans. (They didn’t really help him scope out their target, but you couldn’t carry out a clandestine mission without the proper gear.)

Clarke turned slightly, pressing closer into him as her oblivious cousin passed by their hiding spot. “Of course not. He’s been asking for it. Haven’t you hard everyone making a huge deal out of him graduating with a 4.0? I mean, come on, literally no one in the real world cares about your middle school GPA.”

 “What’s he getting from his parents again? New car?”

“ _Second_ new car.”

“What happened to the first?”

“Literally nothing. He can’t even drive yet.”

Bellamy’s scowl deepened as he regarded Roan — who was now chatting with a group of adults, all of whom were far too appreciative of his easy charisma — with new dislike. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, he —” The walkie-talkie in her hand sounded a short burst of static, then another. “That’s Nate’s signal, let’s go.”

They snuck around the fringes of the party, disregarded by the family and friends in attendance, most of whom assumed they were up to harmless fun. After all, what else would you expect from a seven- and nine-year-old at a party celebrating a fourteen-year-old’s birthday? Really, they were just grateful that the little kids seemed to be entertaining themselves so that the grown-ups could focus on the boy of the hour.

“Did you get it?” Clarke asked.

Nathan Miller held up a set of keys, grinning.

“Awesome. Everyone remembers the plan?”

The boys nodded, and Clarke’s smirk widened.

“Let’s do this thing, then.”

 

ii.

“Freeze!”

Roan turned slowly, already smirking. “Or what?”

“Give it back.” Clarke’s mouth was set, her fists clenched, cheeks flushed —

Her eyes were red.

 _Shit._ Roan hadn’t meant to make her cry; he’d only meant to tease her a little. (And maybe, just a little bit, to reassure his ego that his five extra years did help him edge out fourteen-year-old Nate Miller as a thief, no matter what his little cousin and her two best friends liked to assert. A competition he was probably too old to still be so invested in, but something about these three brought out his inner child that had never really gotten a chance to play. _Roan, you can do better than this. You_ are _better than this._ Mentally he told his mother to shut up, because he wouldn’t have that pleasure in real life for a long time yet.)

Before he could hand over the little tin she usually carried everywhere, a Nerf dart smacked his arm and he dropped it, a little more surprised than hurt. (But definitely hurt — those things had quite some force behind them. Whatever genius decided to market them for kids, Roan hoped he was happy with his life choices. And that he had kids who made him regret everything. Preferably on the daily.)

Just as he’d guessed, Bellamy Blake stood in the doorway, scowling and cradling a Nerf rifle in his right arm. Of course the very next thing he did was cross the room to stand next to his best friend, glaring at Roan the whole time. (With Nate out of town with his dad, it was just the two of them; in Roan’s opinion, they had each other’s backs all the more fiercely for it.)

Clarke, meanwhile, had snatched up her belonging and popped the lid to check inside. Which wasn’t unusual in and of itself — while she changed the contents regularly, they were always things of the kind you’d expect a twelve-year-old girl to hold dear: lucky rocks, charm bracelets, and the like — but Roan froze when he caught a glimpse of what she’d been so desperately trying to retrieve.

It was a small USB, designed to look like a piece of rose quartz. (Clarke had been going through a _rocks and minerals_ phase when she and Jake had picked it out, all those years ago.) Outwardly unassuming, Roan knew that it contained all the digital keepsakes Clarke had from her father — photos and videos and audio recordings and scanned drawings — and that it was the main thing that had gotten her through her parents’ divorce and the ensuing custody battle.

Then Bellamy shifted closer to Clarke, lifting his free hand to the small of her back in silent support, and Roan was forced to rethink that last statement even as he saluted them mockingly. (As his mother was so fond of reminding him, courage in the face of death, always. _Memento mori_ and all that shit.)

 

iii.

When Bellamy got back to the apartment, Clarke was already sprawled on the communal sofa, one arm waving as she shouted at whoever was on the other end of the phone call. The volume of the conversation led him to guess that Miller was out — hopefully on his fourth date with Monty Green; they really seemed to have hit it off — since their third roommate tended to spend his at-home hours napping to accommodate his nocturnal lifestyle.

“No, I already told you, it’s not going to happen!”

He made eye contact with her and raised an eyebrow. _Bad day?_

 _And getting worse,_ she mouthed, lifting up so he could sit. Once he did, she flopped back down, head in his lap. Aloud she said, “Seriously, quit trying. You know she won’t — Wait, really? Okay, you know what, Bellamy’s home, so I’m gonna put you on speakerphone. Let’s see what he makes of this.” She made the switch and tossed her phone onto the coffee table. (One of Abby’s conditions for helping the three of them pay for off-campus housing was that she got a say in their furniture. An odd demand, but she paid half their exorbitant rent, so they humored her.)

“— the reasonable one,” Roan was saying. “Hello, Bellamy.”

“Roan. What’s going on, now?”

“Typical of my cousin to leave the explaining to me. I’m assuming you were aware that her mother’s wedding is coming up?”

“Shit, is it really? I had _no idea_ that my _best friend_ ’s mother was even getting _married_.”

“Very funny. Look, Clarke can’t come alone. She’s twenty-one and all the adults are _so_ disappointed that she’s still single. I can’t take her because I’m conveniently in the middle of my study-abroad semester, and Nate’s already bringing a plus-one. So that leaves —”

Bellamy’s mouth went dry. “Oh, yeah, I guess —”

“— Finn Collins,” Roan finished. Heart sinking, Bellamy barely managed to squeeze Clarke’s shoulder to keep her from lunging for her phone. Her outrage was understandable; he didn’t want to think about why he himself was surprisingly unsurprised by this development. Oblivious (or persistent), Roan went on, “I know they didn’t part on good terms, but hear me out.”

“What could that possibly accomplish?”

“Our family doesn’t know they broke up, because Clarke never tells them anything —”

“Unlike you,” she retorted quietly, but Roan either didn’t hear her or pretended the same.

“— and they’re already struggling with homosexuality as an abstract concept; I doubt they even know bisexuality exists, and their brains might explode if they had to reconcile it with one of their own. As much as I’d love to see that happen, I think my aunt might be just a tad bit upset if she got grey matter on her wedding dress. So it has to be a boy, because if I know Clarke, she’ll want to engage in excessive displays of public affection to piss off Aunt Abby, and she can’t focus on her petty revenge if she’s too frustrated from having to constantly explain and justify her sexuality.”

“Doesn’t explain why you’re pushing her to take her ex.”

“The adults like him, and last they heard, the two of them were still together; he makes the most sense. His family gets along with ours, even if they’re not close enough to wrangle an invitation to the wedding on their own, and I’m sure he’d be interested in the opportunity to make connections.”

“Careful, you’re starting to sound like _her_ ,” Clarke warned darkly.

“Please, I couldn’t sound like my mother if I studied for a PhD in the subject.”

“Fair enough.” Clarke cracked a small, quick smile. “I’m still not taking Finn Collins to my mother’s wedding.”

“Then you better come up with something else, because we both know you can’t get out of it, but you also wouldn’t survive going it alone.”

Before Clarke could retort, Bellamy reached for her phone. “ _So_ nice talking to you, Roan, bye.”

Clarke sighed, pushing to a somewhat upright position so she could curl into his side and make him pet her hair. “Thanks for having my back.”

“You know I always will.”

Since he was already watching her, Bellamy caught the exact second her eyes brightened as an idea took hold.  
“Shit, no, don’t even —”

“Please?”

He was not at all unsurprised to find that twenty-plus years had done nothing to dilute the effect her puppy-dog eyes had on him.

 

+1.

To be quite honest, Roan was not at all surprised to see Bellamy Blake’s dark curly head next to his cousin’s blond one at his aunt’s wedding. (He really had been hoping to get out of it, but his own mother had personally booked his ticket home and actually sent a member of her security staff to ensure that he was in attendance.)

“Thought you said you weren’t going to make it.” Clarke eyed him suspiciously. “Wasn’t that why you were so eager to find me a plus-one for this thing?”

“It was, yes,” Roan replied, with that infuriating calm that had always pissed her off faster than any other approach. “And I see you managed to find one.”

“No thanks to you.” Bellamy huffed, but there was a slightly amused tilt to his mouth. “Welcome home, by the way — I don’t know if anyone’s said that to you yet.”

“No one who’s meant it,” Roan conceded. “Thank you.”

Clarke had been glancing around the reception, taking in all the fancy champagnes and color-matched decorations. “I just don’t get how they move on so easily, you know?”

“It’s been almost eight years,” Roan reminded her, unusually gently.

“Twelve for you, right?” There was no bite to it, for once; her own gaze was especially soft as she continued, “Since … you know. Ontari.”

Roan nodded, expression darkening at the thought of his little sister, and the greed and selfishness that had led to her death. “I never said I didn’t understand what you meant.”

Clarke sighed, tipping her head back against Bellamy’s shoulder. “Our adults suck.”

“They do, at that.” Roan’s gaze turned to his cousin’s companion. “I’m glad she has you.”

Bellamy ducked his head, but he looked pleased as he pressed a kiss to the top of Clarke’s head, squeezing their already joined hands. “Yeah. Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to [me](http://bellamythology.tumblr.com) on Tumblr; you should also check out the [Bellarke Fanfictions blog](http://bellarkefanfictions.tumblr.com)!


End file.
